The Daily Round
by Shadowfang3000
Summary: "We ordinary heroes who trail behind shall be left in the dust - or cast into flame." - Tipped off by a drunken stranger, a duo of adventurers take on a bounty from the Jarl of Whiterun on the bandits of Redoran's Retreat. However, can these two hapless ruffians stumble through their faults and stop the criminals and their caravan raids? A sequel to "The Busty Argonian Barmaid"!
1. The Gist of It

**The Daily Round**

(A/N): I've returned from the exams, entirely scarred and coated in tears!

I've missed typing the usual A/N ritual that padded out the length of all of my fics, and it only seems fitting that I return with an extra-long one which doesn't relate to the actual fanfic in any way, shape or form!

… Bah, sod it

Ever since the write-up of "The Busty Argonian Barmaid", I've been raring to write up a continuation of it. The aim of this was to flesh out the characters of Stradlater and Silent-He-Wonders just a little bit more, who I personally love writing for :P

With that in mind, I've actually been brainstorming two plots for a while… Alas, education got in the way of my write ups :l

Anywho, to business! This fic is a follow-up to "The Busty Argonian Maid", letting us take a glimpse at a tedious day of adventuring through the eyes of Skyrim's most unlikely duo of adventurers! With that in mind, I'd strongly advise you read the predecessor to this fic – it'll fill you in on the weird relationship between the two! Now, let's see what I've lost after writing a boat-load of U grade essays…

WARNING: Spelling errors, some bad language, pretty much an entirely OC cast, butchery of canon, and some suggestive language! Oh, and Argonian racism... Damned lizards...

**Chapter 1: The Gist of It  
**

"Can you _stop _whistling that?" the Argonian grumbled, the rhythmic slap of his scaled feet ringing throughout the high streets of Whiterun. His dark-skinned companion followed in accord, his beefy hands resting in the spacious pockets of his ragged desert garb. "It's bad enough that I don't _have_ any lips, now you're just rubbing it _in_."

The burly Redguard let out a sigh befitting of a captivated princess – albeit, one with a single eye and more battle scars than every Stormcloak warrior put together. "It's a lovely tune," he reminded his grumpy friend, who sneered in response. "You _know _that I admire folk music."

"Considering it's a tale about a big fat _git_," the reptilian began, shimmying past a middle-aged Nordic woman with more screaming children in accord than teeth in her mouth; five of the buggers. "Getting his head lopped off for _being _a big fat git," the marked fighter slipped by the woman with similar litheness – a skill years of getting arrows in the bottom whilst dodging cave traps tended to breed. The party stopped by a small shopping stall "I can see _why_."

The human folded his arms for a moment, trying to decipher what the venomous mage was trying to tell him. Eventually it ticked, and he felt himself reaching for his waist like a bride posing at a mirror with a golden trim. "… Are you saying I've got a plump frame?"

"_Plump_?" the Argonian snickered, tapping his fingers against the stall absently. The Redguard wasn't fat at all; far from it – he had muscles big enough to lob peanuts at giants with a single flex. "I've seen _pot roasts _with smaller breasts."

"Why you…" the tanned man grumbled, gritting his teeth. A forced cough that would put most parents to shame made the duo jump, prompting them to glance over the stall counter – it was the same Nordic woman who they'd just slinked by moments prior, complete with weeping babies strapped to every limb that could accommodate them.

"… Now dinner'll be _terrible_… That's it, _terrible_." The reptilian mage butted in, wondering just how much of their dialogue had been overheard. His companion nodded enthusiastically, sharing his consternation - either her bagged eyes were heavier than a mudcrab chitin, or her eyebrows were raised higher than High Hrothgar in scepticism. For some inexplicable reason, the Redguard felt the latter was more likely.

Forcing smiles more glittery than moon dust, the two made a break for it. The warrior was beginning to wonder if those children even _belonged _to the Nordic woman, or if she was planning to have them for lunch. He frowned irritably after clearing the crowds, glaring at his counterpart in contempt. "Watch your mouth, _lizard_."

The Argonian went right back to scoffing, "If you stop _whistling_," he suggested, his tail stiff in irritation. Once more he began to lead the way, not even taking a moment to let his colleague catch up. "Then I'll _happily _oblige."

With a shrug of his shoulders the desert warrior took his assigned place and pursued the magician, the two-man convoy slowly progressing through the winding streets of Whiterun. The way to Dragonsreach was a surprisingly tiring one, with the constant incline wreaking havoc on the toes and heels of citizens for centuries. The towering spire of the keep crooned over the entirety of the Hold, like a looming sentinel keeping vigil over the land.

He couldn't help but hum the folk tune.

_That got him._

"… Don't _hum_ either." the magician hissed, swivelling around so quickly that he almost fell flat against the Redguard's burly chest to resemble the cover of a shoddy romance novel. "Don't _whistle_, don't _hum_, don't pull out an _accordion_ and dance across the street." There was an awkward pause, punctuated by the incessant creaking of a poorly oiled shop sign overhead. "Anything _else_ I need to list for you, numb skull?"

The Redguard shook his head, and they were off once more.

_He lasted a full ten seconds – he deserved credit for that at least._

His shadowy eyes darting left and right as if he was a robber on the run, the warrior took a deep breath. "… _Ohh_, t_here once was a_- _Ow!_"

A large, vaguely palm-shaped mark appeared on the Redguard's cheek, glowing an increasingly virulent pink that complimented the maroon and crimson of his garb. "The _claws_ are on stand-by," the mage snarled, lowering his scaly hand and slipping it back into its sheath. "Now if you don't mind-"

"Later, we're late." The warrior said redundantly, his low voice suddenly becoming more monotonous than a complete reading into the Yellow Book of Riddles with an Imperial noble. He shouldered past the Argonian casually, ascending yet another flight of steps – Whiterun wasn't a Hold, it was a god-forsaken _staircase_. "No thanks to _you_."

"No thanks to _me?!" _The Argonian sputtered, thrown into complete disarray by his friend's sudden change of tone. He stomped on the floor childishly, leaving faint talon-shaped indentations on the misty morning grass. "Now I'll have you _know_ I… Oi, come back here Redguard!"

_He didn't turn._

_He loved confusing his colleague like that._

The unlikely duo continued their treacherous ascent, navigating several more maze-like markets and scaling more stairways than couriers on treacherous journeys to send parcels to the Greybeards. The Redguard breathed deeply as he at last reached the top of the city, the huge double-doors to the throne room sitting metres ahead. He turned, tugging on his loose clothing to release humid sweat and air from its confines. "Are you done yet?" he sighed, placing his large hands on his hips.

"I'm _nearly_ there." The mage's feeble voice called, a grunt of exertion punctuating every painful footfall. The Redguard glanced at the door in worry, wondering if the Jarl had his court physician on standby. "… I'm nearly _there_," croaked the mage, a sickly green fist emerging from the stairs and slapping onto the spotless white of the keep's cobblestone floor. At last he pushed himself up, poking his head from the ground like an archer emerging from cover. "I'm there!" he cheered, his arms trembling spasmodically. The Redguard shook his head as his companion slowly slid back down to whence he came. "… Wait… No, _nearly_ there."

It was tempting to sit and watch for the next few hours, but the two had a schedule that was tighter than a female Breton arch mage. With relative ease he clutched onto the Argonian's frightfully bony shoulders and hauled him to his feet like a mother teaching their child how to walk – although that analogy ends when it involves a dull Redguard man and an arrogant, selfish and rather racist Argonian. The scarred warrior shook his head in pity, "You've got the strength of a damp _noodle_."

"And you _smell_ like one, Redguard." The gasping magician responded snappily, the words forming on his tongue before his saviour had even finished his own. The warrior kept him supported as he retained his strength, his limp tail wiggling pathetically like the arm of a diarrhetic legionary desperately hunting for some toilet paper. The mage had a right to complain about the ergonomic choice of Nordic architects. "… Who in the name of all that is _sacred _designs a city like _that_?"

The Redguard hauled his friend up straight, slowly assisting him in their march forward. He shrugged his shoulders, his exhausted mind dry of wit. "Someone really _high_ on the corporate staircase…?" he suggested.

There was a shared feeling of disgust. "… I'm not even going to _reply_ to that one." The mage grumbled, much to the warrior's approval. No other word bandied between them the broken duo continued their restless march, their destination mere metres away. If a simple _walk_ had drained this much breath from them, it was debateable they'd even last the night.

With a dramatic, drawn-out creak the hold doors were suddenly thrown open – and the skinny Argonian thrown back if it weren't for his colleague keeping him standing like a peculiar man and his puppet. With the distinctive ring and the chilling rattle of chainmail and cold steel, a towering man clad in ornate plate armour marched outwards – a ginormous broadsword that was clearly compensating for something resting across his heroic spine. The man walked by the duo without comment, his head forever fixed forward as he made for the steps.

From behind his back the Redguard and Argonian glared at the armoured man as he slowly hauled himself down, the heavy set of metal weighing him down and making it thrice as difficult to descend the steps of Dragonsreach to the markets below. They knew exactly who he was; everyone did.

_Dovahkiin, Dragonborn._

_The Saviour of Skyrim, the Light in the Darkness._

_And a _total_ tosser._

They had every reason to hate the smarmy bastard, who roamed the fields of the province slaying monsters, solving problems, getting girls and stealing salt from people's draws. People like the Dragonborn were the individuals who would be remembered in history for their feats, while the ordinary heroes that trailed behind him would be left in the dust.

_Or in their case, left in the flames – their struggles forgotten._

The scarred Redguard remained silent, yet it was clear through his single eye that he bore little respect for the tin man escaping his sight. In contrast the Argonian was a tad bit less secretive, a single talon-tipped finger flipping the Dragonborn off out of his sight. "I _hate_ that guy." The mage hissed ferally to his comrade, his dying tail becoming stiff with aggression. "He's a real _bastard_."

"We shouldn't think like that." The larger man warned, glaring at his vocal companion. No hero could save the _entire_ province of Skyrim and its people on their own – that was a task for the layman; he and his friend. "He has _his_ orders, we have _ours_."

Argonians are rather skilled at scoffing, what with their elongated snouts and nostrils like twinned septims. The magician demonstrated this proficiency with a rather skilful and phlegmy snort, yet beyond that ceased his whining. With the legendary dragonslayer out of sight – no doubt throwing buckets on the heads of merchants to steal things – the unlikely duo wandered over the bridge, well-kept oak wood damp with rains of nights past.

_Another extended creak._

_Someone really needed to oil those hinges._

Three figures emerged from the keep, clad in the infamous gold and grey of Whiterun's town watch. The two at the flanks were bog-standard guards – faceless Nord peasants drawn from nearby villages who had swords blunter than a snarky Khajit's sense of humour. What was slightly more interesting was the lady between them – a short woman; clearly of rank, with a bow and buckler in accord.

_A Bosmer._

"Hold it there now." The wood elf signalled with a raised hand in the universal gesture. The adventurers stopped in their tracks like wolves in the shifty gaze of fur traders, too exhausted to really say otherwise. The woman stood back as her boys walked forward, puffing their chests to try and look taller – a challenging effort with the large Redguard before them. "State your names, _and_ your business."

"Pretty rude for a damned _wood elf_." The Argonian hissed in annoyance, glaring at the guards as they man-handled him. He feebly tried to break free of their grasp, yet their grip was firm. "Shouldn't you be swinging in trees and shagging _cave bears_, woman?"

The guards exchanged glances through their visors, and then did the same with the Redguard. The dark warrior spoke up, offering no resistance as he was patted down. "That insult doesn't even make much sense."

His reptilian friend rolled his eyes, having hoped that the tall man would give him some back up. After an awkward pause in search for a response, he squeaked irritably. "… Shut up, I'm _trying_."

"_Stradlater_." The wood elf suddenly spoke up, her surprisingly muscular arms folding across her ample chest and a grin that would put Ragnar the Red to shame sprouting on her lips. The named Redguard raised his chin, his suspicions confirmed as she closed the distance. Even with her heeled boots the height difference was significant, much to the amusement of the magician. "What's a scrawny green tosser - and an _Argonian_ -doing lurking about in _my_ city?"

"Got to make a living _somehow_." He responded plainly, ignoring the Argonian tugging on his sweaty desert robe begging for attention. He lowered his gaze and glared into the night-black of the Bosmer's eyes, seeing his scarred visage reflected in their eternal glow. "And what's a young elf such as yourself doing in the Whiterun guard, _Faelindra_?"

After a moment she broke their staring contest, a gloved hand tending to her arm-strapped buckler. "Mercenary life wasn't so fulfilling." She sighed, this strange reunion of acquaintances baffling the forgotten wizard clinging onto Stradlater's side to no end. "I guess I get more _action_ around here than I did with _you_."

"Never saw you as much of an action girl." The Redguard mumbled, fidgeting under the scrutiny the wood elf provided. The Bosmer briefly returned the gaze, her expression as firm as it had been moments prior. Yet deep down in the ebon sparkle of the woman's shining eyes he could sense her sheer displeasure, discomfort and offence by his mere _presence_. "I already said I was _sorry_."

"You certainly _said_ that a lot." Faelindra replied, raising her pointed chin in pride. There was a distinct stench in the air radiating from the exhausted duo, the Redguard's chest rising and falling to a deep rhythm. She shook her head in judgement, throwing her arms to her sides – there were rotted skeevers that would pose a greater threat to the Jarl. "… You never did have much _stamina, _did you?"

The guards exchanged a snicker as the wood elf turned, beckoning the collective to follow her lead through the open entrance into the keep. Stradlater shook his head in irritation, his companion still more confused than a farmer pestered by the Daedric Prince Sheogorath. "Who in _Oblivion_ is _she_?" he demanded, staring at the back of her brunette head of hair. Part of him wondered if she had eyes on the back of her skull, like most housecarls seemed to bear – the other part _knew._

"An old friend." Stradlater answered simply, slipping his hands into his deep pockets casually as the guards led the way. It'd been six months since he'd last encountered Faelindra – a lot must've happened in half an annum. The mage remained silent for far too long, which often meant he was thinking; a terrible occurrence in most circumstances. "What is it?"

"… Those were _sex_ jokes." The Argonian began, his eyes darting left and right as if scanning the pieces of an oversized puzzle. "… You had _sex_." He linked, prompting the warrior to flinch. He shot his gaze upwards like a cat chasing a firefly, his expression resembling that of a loyal wife who'd just discovered the love letters of another a woman under the pillows. "Stradlater, did you have _sex_? Sex with a _wood elf_?" he asked, shaking the burly man's arm. One of the guards glanced back at the creepy Argonian, wondering if a restraining order was needed – for him, not the Redguard. "_Sexy_ sex?"

"Stop saying that word, you perverted _chameleon_." Stradlater spat, wrapping his brawny fingers around the mage's snout. His low, bestial growl like a dog butchering a chew toy prompted him to release the reptilian. "… I guess so." He admitted. The silence was deafening, as the Redguard wondered just how damn long the court of the hold was. "… Honningbrew mead makes you _do_ weird things – like wood elves."

Glancing dubiously at the housecarl like a student passing notes in class, the magician tapped Stradlater's shoulder and beckoned him to a whisper's distance. "Listen Redguard, you do realise that Bosmer are _cannibals_?"

"Yes, yes." He grumbled, pushing his companion back somewhat. He wasn't a fan of the Argonian's racial rambles – all Dunmer were slavers, all Khajits were thieves, all Bretons were racists, all Orcs were buffoons, all Imperials were terrible singers. "She told me all about _that_." Stradlater assured.

"... When she said 'I'm going to eat you up'," the curious wizard began, a taloned finger tapping at the tip of a growing grin. "I take it you thought she meant your pen-"

"Shut it."

Before he could speak up in reply the Bosmer housecarl returned to her tangent, pushing _another _set of heavy hold doors open with a single arm. "Who's your lover boy then?" she asked, casting her gaze across the heavily populated throne room. "Got him off the Stormcloak market no doubt?"

"We're _not_ gay!" the two shouted in perfect unison, promptly drawing the gaze of Whiterun's court. Under hundreds of eyes, the two simmered down.

"_Silent-He-Wonders _is my name, and I don't take kindly to such accusations you _arrogant_ little woman!" The Argonian hissed irritably, burying the urge to blow her head off with a well-placed lightning bolt. Realising the company of a royal courtroom, Wonders quickly descended into diplomat mode through using words larger than mammoth tusks. "May I ask why you believe there could be a… _Relationship_… B-Between an Argonian and a _grease-stain?!"_

"Oi, I _explained_ that to you." Stradlater grumbled defensively, butting heads with the offensive mage. Wonders snarled at him, recalling their ill-fated supper at the Drunken Huntsman weeks ago like the back of his claws. "I just _spilled_ your mammoth cheese bowl on my lap, and it-"

"Your tail is wrapped around his thigh." Faelindra answered plainly, paying no heed to their quarrel.

"My tail is wrapped around his…?" the Argonian began, his metaphorical eyebrow rising high. He glanced downwards at Stradlater's leg reluctantly, only to spot the offending appendage cosily curled around his warm, sweaty legs. Wonders froze nervously, his reptilian toes clacking against the cobblestone of the court. "My tail is wrapped around his thigh." he acknowledged, as if he'd casually noticed a muddied mark in the carpet."… _He_ put it there."

"Of course." the afflicted warrior sighed in response, standing stiffly to accommodate the scaly mass. Stradlater waited obediently for the mage to remove his tail from him like a pitying girlfriend with their premature lover, having noticed its presence since Faelindra had first appeared – as if Wonders was a nervous child clutching onto him for protection. "… You haven't _actually_ moved it yet." he pointed out after a considerable pause.

Wonders glanced at his coiled tail, the prehensile limb remaining taut across the Redguard's beefy leg. Irritably he wiggled his hips like a disgusted dog walker with his pissing pet, eventually managing to break Stradlater free from his scaled clutches. "… It was _cosy_." He defended himself, fumbling with his hood as he backed a few steps away from his crutch-serving friend. "… You have no idea what it's like being _cold blooded._"

"I journey with _you_; it makes you _moody, greedy, aggressive_, and permanently _hungry_. " Stradlater listed, having had many a meal swiped from him by the lazy Argonian mage. The 'cold blooded' excuse was one that Wonders employed nearly every day, and it tended to get him a free pint from taverns who hadn't heeded to the Redguard's warnings. "I know _exactly_ what it's like being cold blooded."

Glancing between the Redguard, the Bosmer, and the duo of faceless Nords that led the procession Wonders took the viable alternative to setting the throne room ablaze - and mumbled the last words. "... _Suave, _Ra Gada."

With that said, the awkward convoy at last arrived at its destination like a conga line full of senile pensioners. Stradlater hadn't actually been in the throne room of Dragonsreach before - its long hall of endless tables covered in the finest cutlery surrounding a roaring hearthfire conveying the prosperity of Skyrim's de facto capital. In some ways it reminded him of the lush Yokudan palaces of home; the rich showed little variety across the vast provinces of Tamriel, it seemed.

And at last ahead; upon a shining throne, upon a raised platform, upon the highest stones of Whiterun's expanse sat the great Jarl Balgruuf - one last god-damned staircase laying in his wake. Among the noble lord stood many stewards and squires, each one vying for his attention whilst going through page after page of scrolls and bills. Low murmuring filled the court as he answered each question and proposal with the approval or contempt of a language tutor, signing documents and working to maintain his city.

"There he is." Wonders muttered, his arrogant posture tripling in effort. The Redguard feared that if his colleague stood any straighter his strained spine would snap in twain, yet quickly found himself mimicking him at the foot of the throne. The Argonian sized the Jarl up like a wrestler in the ring, glad for the moment that no eyes were upon him. "Fatter than I thought - _ugly_ and _hairy_ as I guessed though."

"Speak only when spoken to." Stradlater advised, having some recollection of courtly etiquette. The two were in a very alien environment, and he was adamant in getting them out without losing an eye or tail. He nudged the reptilian in warning, noticing a devious grin spreading across his spiked teeth. "And whatever you do, none of your_ Argonian_ diplomacy.

Wonders pouted mockingly, his long tongue drooping from his bestial maw. "You take out the fun, Redguard."

Balgruuf glanced down from his chair to spot his latest housecarl Faelindra, gesturing to an Imperial steward with less hair on his head than attractive women in a orc fort to pause his ramblings. The Bosmer woman ascended the steps, bowing her head respectfully. "My Jarl." Faelindra greeted gently, to which he prompted her rise. Eventually she turned from the Nordic noble, beckoning her guests over like a lonely child begging a dog to chase a stick. As Stradlater neared she nudged him in the stomach, mumbling to him lowly. "… Mind your manners, and we'll have no more trouble."

"I'm holding you to that." Stradlater responded lowly, receiving no response as she took up vigil on the flanks of the building. Several guards were in similar positions - if so much as a spider got too close to the Jarl there'd be more javelins in its rump than tomatoes in tavern pantries. Stradlater and Wonders ascended the steps and stood alert, the undivided attention of one of the most influential men this side of Skyrim fixed on the two adventurers.

"Well." he sighed with lordly composure, resting against his fist like a dozy Winterhold student working overtime. By his side stood a slim Dunmer clad in the characteristic leather armour of an assassin, her steady hand resting on the ornate hilt of her blade. She was glaring at Wonders as if he'd stolen her sweet-roll; no doubt a sign of the Dark Elves' general distrust towards Argonians. Balgruuf gently tapped her without breaking his calmed visage, prompting her to return to attention obediently. "I'm _certain_ you two know why you're here."

"Yes, your highness." Stradlater nodded, cutting off Wonders before he insulted every race within a mile radius. They'd been tipped off at the Bannered Mare by a drunken Battle-Born that a considerable bounty had been posted on a bandit camp close by, raiders and highwaymen having robbed several caravans and brought trade to and from the other holds to a stand-still. "We've... Come to _do_... I mean, _enact_... ... _Participate_ in...?"

"Redoran's Retreat." he reminded the two, fidgeting in his seat. Stradlater bowed his head in acknowledgement - Wonders simply glared at the Dunmer, hoping to provoke a response from the degenerate elven hag like an unruly older brother in the backseat of a carriage. Balgruuf spoke in his bored administrative tone, "You two are _mercenaries_ who are offering to flush out those bandits, yes?"

"_Mercenaries?" _Wonders suddenly croaked in offence, folding his weedy arms defensively. The Dunmer tugged on her blade ever so slightly to reveal its polished steel, eager for an excuse to slice the Argonian's tongue out. "If _I_ am a mercenary, _you_ must be a whiny flea-ridden-_owch_!" the mage was quickly subdued by a well placed stomp on the foot from the boot of his Redguard colleague, prompting him to mumble timidly. "... Yes, milord."

The Jarl paused irritably, before turning back to his steward. "I'd rather not rely on the _sort_, but you're all I have." he noted, reaching for a quill and scribbling on a scroll. The steward gestured at the scroll's text, and Balgruuf promptly exchanged nods with him. "Faelindra will fill you in on the details, now if you _don't_ mind; I have a city to keep."

"Of _course_, sir." Stradlater bowed once more, forming a perfect right angle that would put most architects to shame. "_Thank you_ sir." he muttered lowly, remaining in the same posture for an awkwardly long moment. The Jarl's attention had since been taken, yet Wonders was quick to kick him in the shin. The Redguard stood tall once more, stepping back yet not turning his back on the throne - the mage simply pivoted and wandered off. "We... Uhhh... _Thank you_."

Faelindra nudged one of her fellow officers with a snicker, nodding at the hulking Redguard and whispering - although to be honest it sounded louder and more attention-drawing than the preaching of a Talos fanatic who'd been hitting the Skooma. "He was that apologetic back _then_ too, you know." she grinned, prompting a chorus of hearty chuckles from her guards. Stradlater at last turned from the throne, joining Wonders with a pained limp alongside the wood elf. "Any other variations of _'thank you sir_' to utter, or are we good?"

Stradlater snarled, tugging on his sleeves. "Fine, _thank_..." the wood elf grinned at him as if he was eating a potato she'd personally coated in skeever urine, prompting him to shake his head in distaste. He tapped Wonders on the shoulder, who hissed like a tabby cat in response. "Come on, let's get a move on."

Faelindra raised a hand, pushing the impetuous warrior back with surprising strength. "You don't even know where the Retreat is, do you?" she inferred, folding her arms authoritatively. The two mercenaries exchanged glances, before shrugging their shoulders in unison. Faelindra sneered in distaste, raising a judging eyebrow like your average Thalmor looking at an Orc butcher. "You always were too _thick headed_ to pause and think, Stradlater."

"Oh yeah? _Well_..." the scarred warrior paused in thought, his comeback bank having been drained by extensive use courtesy of Wonder's arrogance. He'd never been good at exchanging insults with anyone _but _the Argonian - and it was showing. "... That's... That's what _you _said when... With the _thing_ and-"

Wonders hissed with pity, casting his eyes back towards the throne to try and spot the Dunmer again. In these parts the Redguard and Argonian's collective reputations were combined, and he didn't want the villainous dark elf to see any weakness in his resolve. "Stop while you're _ahead_, Redguard." he advised, like dad teaching his son a thinly veiled moral lesson about giving up.

"Yeah, that's a decent idea." he agreed abruptly, his long brown fingers returning to the safety of his drooping trouser pockets. Mumbling with Wonders like a family at a pizzeria Stradlater was caught off guard when Faelindra turned from the conversation, making for the exit of Dragonsreach casually. "... You aren't even going to give us a map?" he called.

The Bosmeri ranger kissed her teeth irritably, waving her drawing hand lazily as she descended another set of - gods be praised - _stairs_. "I'll take you as far as the Western Watchtower," she offered, much to the delight of the Redguard "the rest is up to you."

Seeing that as permission to follow, Stradlater gestured to the magician to follow his lead and pursued the housecarl hastily. The Argonian lazily shuffled in pursuit, like a tired child at the end of a day-trip to the Cloud District. Stradlater wandered to Faelindra's side, giving his best mock-up of a friendly smile - it conveyed all the grace and love of a rampant kiddy fiddler. "I don't know what to say _Fae_."

"Well, for starters," she grumbled, speeding up her pace. She hated that nick-name the Redguard had given her; although she'd loved it during _that_ night no doubt. "_Don't_ call me _Fae_."

"How about '_Fael_'?" Wonders suggested, several steps behind the two. Part of him didn't want to get in the way of the two out of respect - the _rest _of him wanted to exploit their past like a politician would exploit newly struck ebony veins."It fits you well, what with the rhyme and all..."

Faelindra scoffed - _stalemate_. "Doesn't your _boyfriend_ need help getting suited up?" she grumbled judgingly, prompting the Argonian to flush red. At the court's landing she nudged the keep door open with little apparent effort, gesturing at the two. The armoury was close-by - a _Falmer_ wouldn't be able to miss it. "I'll give you thirty minutes - he'll only last _two_, no worries."

Wonders hissed lowly, as if to utter the phrase 'why doth thou forsake him so?' in a single bestial sound. As Faelindra closed the door behind her, Wonders flicked his pointed talons forward as if bearing twin crossbows "... _Suave, _Bosm-."

"Stop saying that." Stradlater growled, beckoning the Argonian to follow. In unison the two made for the Keep's armoury - an easy location to spot, what with the circle of guards exchanging spears and helmets there as if it were a Hammerfell bazaar. After a moment of calm, the Redguard couldn't help but repeat the Argonian in confusion. "... '_Fael_'?"

"Fail?" Wonders pointed out, shaking no response from the dumb-founded Redguard. "_Failure_?" the magician spat, the growing smirk on Stradlater's face conveying his realisation. Wonders couldn't _believe _the man's foolishness. "Defined as the _opposite_ of _success_?" he squeaked. Stradlater remained silent as he walked ahead, tugging at his Yokudan headdress and peeling the sweat-pasted cloth from his cranium to reveal a thick brush of coal-coloured hair. "You do _understand_ the common tongue, yes?"

The Redguard continued to grin goofily, shimmying through the guardsmen in the cramped haven for warriors. Wonders stood by the armoury's entrance, hopping on the spot frantically to try and spot Stradlater amongst the mass of beefy Nordic bodies. He could still hear the smug git chuckling to himself - had he finally lost his marbles?

Wonders was simply lost for words. "_What_?"

X

(A/N): Ooofff... That felt a bit painful to write :S

I guess all the exams really have taken their toll - I'm quite unsure about this one _

Well, in the end I can't be the judge can I? Hopefully you've enjoyed part one and hopefully I get around to writing part two! Until then, god-speed!


	2. To Redoran's Retreat

**The Daily Round**

(A/N): Here's another issue with chapter-based stories: can't write excessively long notes to pad out the length! xD

On to part two, where our armed and ready duo of misadventurers make their way to the bandit camp!

WARNING: Spelling errors, some bad language, pretty much an entirely OC cast, butchery of canon, and some suggestive language! Oh, and Argonian racism... Damned lizards...

**Chapter 2: To Redoran's Retreat**

Orcish iron - cast by the firm bonds of orichalcum - shared various traits with its namesake. The brownish-grey metal, while ugly, was heavy, protective and more than reliable with shielding its owner from the relentless blows of rag-tag bandits and cutthroats. While to some it weighed a burden, to others it was fundamental to succeeding in lives of danger, combat, and blood.

One such knight departed from the grand armoury of Whiterun, clad in armour foreign to the realm as he marched onwards. The clank of plated boots traversing the carefully polished wood of the keep echoed throughout Dragonsreach - a shrill reminder that a fine champion was departing from its clutches. The Hold Guards stepped aside with respect, clutching onto their bronze-tipped spears tightly as the towering rook made his way.

With a long, drawn-out, bitter snarl the keep's entrance creaked open at the will of the armour-clad man. He probably would've noticed the two soldiers he'd almost crushed against the wall with the heavy oakwood doors, if it wasn't for his spectacular steel helmet - carved personally and with care in the harsh smithies of Sentinel - obstructing his vision by at least 270°.

"I've got a question." One of the threatened guards noted, clutching onto the keep bridge's banister for dear life. His counterpart was in a similar situation, tending to a rather squished nose that now resembled a squeezed tomato. The large, clumsy knight turned to the questioning guard - at least he tried to, what with the armour being stiffer than a Talos priest in a playground. "We don't have armour like that in Whiterun, meaning you brought it here _yourself_ Redguard..." the guard postulated, demonstrating the deductive skill of you average boiled leek. He almost sounded panicked, as if wondering how the tall foreigner had managed to smuggle so much gear past him. "... Where did you store it?"

"Same place he stores his _ideas_." Silent-He-Wonders hissed, slipping through the keep doors with the silence and fleetness of a Shadowscale. The Argonian mage had to admit that he often pondered himself - it seemed most mercenaries and bruisers he came across had access to some sort of hammer space where they drew all sorts of broadswords and sweet rolls from. He placed a friendly palm on his friend's shoulder, hopping onto the tips of his talons to pat it awkwardly. "Up his _arse_."

"You're the one who has an entire alchemist _store_ of reagents on your person at all times, Argonian." Stradlater grumbled, his deep voiced echoing within the tight confines of his helmet. It was true that he crafted his armour alone back home, but it'd been several years since then - some people just keep growing, and he was no exception. "Across the whole of Tamriel, you're the only person I know who _literally _has _ants_ in his _pants._"

Wonders scoffed defiantly, glaring off to the horizon. The sun still sat high in its throne - they had plenty of time to do their thing, and be back in time for tea. After a moment he mumbled defensively, sounding like a little girl who'd just been accused of having a crush on her mentor. "... They're not _ants_, they're _bees._"

The hold guard looked between the two like a third friend walking down a school corridor, folding his arms protectively. "Up his _arse_, eh?" he repeated, chuckling so forcefully that you could practically see him pronouncing every "_ha_" like a noblewoman laughing at a terrible joke from the Emperor. Wonders patted one of his many satchels delicately, prompting a low series of buzzes from his bottom - Stradlater simply teetered, the bulky orcish armour feeling heavier on the left side than the right.

"Makes sense, Hagneir." Faelindra sighed judgingly, leaning against a column at the top of the treacherous steps to Dragonsreach. She'd been waiting for an incredibly long time - she was used to Stradlater being a lot quicker, in more ways than one. "There's probably enough space up _there_, what with their relationship and all."

"Why you _filthy_ little..." Wonders began, instantly shifting to defensive mode under fire. She was a bloody _mistress _at the art of insults in his books; he had an ardent respect for that. "... Oh, you're _good_... I like you..." he grinned evilly, nudging the tall Redguard with his elbow. "I like her."

"If you like her so much, go _marry_ her." Stradlater sighed, flexing the stiff joints of his armour. He hadn't tended to the old straps and plates of the suit for months - he'd have to sort that out at some point if he were to keep himself agile.

The Argonian's tail wilted sadly, hovering around the Redguard's legs like a saddened youth begging for a hug. "... I-It's like you don't even _know_ me."

"If you don't mind, I have a busy day ahead of me." The Bosmer butted in, sneering so spitefully that the corner of her lips resembled a constructive strut. Glad to have grabbed the attention of the slimy lizard - and Silent-He-Wonders - she turned with a lazed beckon. "So, if you'd _gladly_ follow me rather than pissing about around here...?"

"Sorry, sorry..." Stradlater mumbled, bowing his head shamefully. If the combined tuts of Faelindra, Wonders, and the Hold Guards didn't remind him, the kick in the thigh from his companion did. He did a double-take "... I mean-"

"_Follow_." Wonders growled, patting the hulk of a man on the back. Faelindra had since taken off down the white steps of Dragonsreach, her short frame and Bosmeri armour easy to spot in the upper market district.

"Sounds like a plan." the Redguard nodded, making his best attempt at a jog in his heavy plate. If anything he resembled a toddler doing his best to make it to a toilet in time, only to have already left a surprise in his smelly nappy. Without a word the magician pursued, too caught up in his own thoughts to comment.

"_Fail_." he whispered to himself, tapping a claw against his angular chin. "... _Fael" _he continued, going through every possible pronunciation he could think of for the two interchangeable words. He scoffed irritably, resembling your average Khajit merchant heckling for a sale - albeit scalier, and several times more irritating. "...How _didn't_ he...?"

To be fair, the strangest thing that followed was the simple fact that absolutely _nothing _occurred for the next hour. The trio rendezvoused at the city gates, mapped the destination, and got set for the Western Watchtower - the once vigilant outpost having been left crippled since a dragon attack months prior. The three then walked, the sexual tension between the Redguard and Bosmer being more obvious than the plot-line of any romance novel that starred a vampire, an Imperial and a werewolf.

In all his days of roaming, never had he been through such a tedious and uneventful hour. If there was a Whiterun Herald covering the moment, they'd have to cut to a story about local farmers seeing aliens or talking dogs - which didn't exist, as far as Wonders was concerned. Having nothing to talk about for an hour tends to be more irritating than a tropical skin disease, prompting the mage to get into action.

_They didn't call him "The Diplomat" for nothing._

"Why didn't the Jarl send some of his own guards to deal with the Retreat?" Wonders questioned, waving behind the Housecarl to test his theory of rear-eyeballs. As expected the Bosmer perked up - surely a reaction to his gesture and _certainly_ not a result of him speaking. "It's just a bunch of bandits. Most of them are just sweaty teenagers being rebellious _gits_."

"He has." Faelindra answered, sounding blunter than the blade of your average Stormcloak officer. Stradlater glanced at her dubiously - well, he attempted at least, his eyes meeting the wall of steel his helmet provided. The Bosmer sighed forlornly, shaking her head in mourning. "They failed."

Wonders chuckled, tapping his friend's shoulder. "That's _Nords_ for you, eh?" he smirked, glancing back and forth as if this was a running gag he was famed for. "Less reliable than _Dwemer _architecture."

While Stradlater never frequented Dwarven ruins, everyone had heard the tales of their centurial centurions. He'd spoken to a woman who'd encountered some Dwemer defences during an expedition once - she'd entered with five friends and both arms, only to leave with one of both. He raised a condescending eyebrow so high his visor practically began to float. "... Again, that doesn't make _sense._"

"I've lost four men to these outlaws, _Argonian_." Faelindra frowned, clenching her gloved fists. The clouds seemed a whole lot darker as notable annoyance flared within the elf - she was still a Bosmer, and like all wood elves she certainly possessed a mother-like care for those she deemed friends. Stradlater frowned as the woman continued, wondering how close she may have been to her deceased comrades. "I'd rather you _not_ speak lightly about it."

The Argonian was surely about to make a comment that would result in his tail being hooked onto a spit for the night's dinner, so Stradlater took it upon himself to crunch the magician's snout between his mailed fist. By his amazement his colleague made no protest - the journey continued, forever silent.

_Like her, they'd too lost friends._

_But they'd never lost their lives._

Soon enough they reach the watchtower, the structure's garrison commander nodding at the Housecarl in acknowledgement. Turning to face the two-man convoy, she swept back an arm like a grand commander and gestured to the horizon. "There." she muttered. The duo of adventurers both leant to the right to gaze around the short ranger, the weight of his armour sending the warrior staggering for his feet. "Have fun." Faelindra sighed absently, pushing by the Redguard and tossing his balance to the _left._

"What?" Wonders spat in combination with a sneeze, paying no heed to the instability of his wobbling companion. The wood elf kept moving on - her rear-eyeballs no doubt closed. "You aren't going to wish us luck, _Bosmer_?"

"Where you're going?" she said in reply, her voice near-silent in the buffeting winds of Skyrim's lowland fields. "... You're not going to need _luck."_

With that she faded into the distance, marching up the pebbled road and making her way back to the city. Stradlater at last found his feet once more, cracking the back of his neck in discomfort. Part of him worried about the state of the Housecarl, yet another knew full well that the independent ex-mercenary could handle herself. He turned to face the Retreat, paying no heed to the stares of the Watchtower garrison. "... That would sound _good_ on a book blurb, don't you think?"

"You _never _think." Wonders pointed out, much to the Redguard's irritance. He'd let him off this time - he'd gone through an hour of not being able to insult anyone, so it only made sense to give him a break. The Argonian reached for his satchel with consternation, patting it to produce several low hums. "Let's get this over with; I think these bees are beginning to make _honey_."

Stradlater paused, his analytical skills coming to hand. After the whole "_Fael" _disaster he was adamant to avoid letting another play on words slip by. "... Now when you say _honey..._"

"_Honey_." The magician repeated dismissively, pulling a yellowed hand away from his posterior. "The sticky stuff that bees produce. You know what _bees_ are, don't you Redguard?" the satchel was drenched in the junk, and he wasn't a fan of sending robes to Nordic dry-cleaners; they never seemed to iron the creases out, and they loved to put stinking pelts on everything.

Another pause from the towering man, as if he was Tiber Septim himself delivering a rousing and inspirational speech that would frequent words such as "_patriotism_", "_honour_" and "_antidisestablishmentarianism_". "... When you say _sticky stu-_"

"_Honey_!" Wonders growled, whipping his hand floorwards with an audible crack and sending a layer of golden goo to the grass for all the ants to enjoy. "By the _Hist_, let's _go_." he egged on, taking the lead. "This conversation is becoming more painful than that _barmaid_ endeavour."

"That wasn't painful." he pointed out, remembering the day like the back of his rusted gauntlets. "It was _disappointing_." he hadn't been to the Bannered Mare since, but he'd heard that it'd been bought off the original owner. He only hoped that Soft-Her-Scales the Argonian Barmaid was still working there: for her warm, round, large, succulent _bread loaves _filled many a tasty dream_._

_Also her breasts, but that was an entirely different story._

Wonders readied his blackened talons, brandishing the hooked digits like a Yokuudan prostitute would wiggle her tush. "You know what _is _painful?"

He sighed irritably like a defeated parent covered in porridge, the crunch of leaves under-foot filling the air around them. "Your _claws_?"

"_Good boy_." he grinned approvingly, glad to have sorted out their differences in a calm, democratic and orderly fashion.

Redoran's Retreat seemed to be a relatively unremarkable joint - a rotted door hoisted upon a hill face, no doubt leading to a small cavern that once housed bears or peddlers, or in some cases both. If years of adventuring had taught them anything, then the duo knew for certain that nothing is as it seems. The two took to their knees by the brush, staying low and undetected in the thick undergrowth of wild grass. Stradlater could see one bandit already - a large man in wolf-skinned armour, standing at the door with his pale arms folded like a bouncer at a brothel.

He slipped back into cover, turning to his colleague. "You see him?"

"Of _course_ I see him, I'm right next to you." the mage pointed out, licking his lips - or lack thereof. "What am I, _blind_?"

"He's alone." Stradlater noted, his masterful detective work having the entire province on its toes. "The rest of them are probably inside."

"I'm also an Argonian by the way." Wonders reminded, hoping to keep the tactician in the loop of information and reconnaissance. "And you're a _buffoon_."

He ignored the magician's judgement - as foolish as it sounded, it was always right to consider these things before acting. Even if it's obvious at the time, what if in battle your adrenaline-driven mind forgets? After a moment of reflection he noted his companion's words. "... Of course!"

"You agreed with me?" Wonders gasped, tilting his head in confusion. Maybe he was right with his assumption earlier - the poor Redguard must've taken one too many clubs over the skull during their last journey. "That's a first."

"No, you're an _Argonian_." he exclaimed with the enthusiasm of a motivational speaker with no arms and a leg glued to his forehead. He glanced over the knoll once more to spy on the guard - he scratched his chest lazily, his axe tied loosely to his belt with a bit of rope. "We can _use_ that here, trust me."

It was a dubious plot no doubt, but Wonders was always one to fall for flattery. Anything that reaffirmed his race as superior or more efficient than another always lead to his ears perking. "... What've you got in mind, _friend_?"

Stradlater scanned the greenland that surrounded them. If this was a bandit camp, no doubt there were the remains of caravans looted and picked of their worth nearby. As if foretold by a clairvoyant there was a small carriage nearby, damaged yet functional. He patted the mage's sticky satchel, before awkwardly tugging on his sleeve. "There, look at this."

"A _wheelbarrow_?" he replied, as if this was some sort of weird drinking-game involving the recognising of faint drunken shapes. Tentatively Wonders leant forward to sniff the Redguard's breath, worrying that the beef-headed warrior was inebriated. All that got him was a strange look from his companion; wouldn't you be confused if another person leant against you snugly in a meadow, closed their eyes and breathed deeply?

"Filled with barrels and bags, all _empty,_" Stradlater stressed, heaving himself to his feet and tugging the wheelbarrow closer. It was strangely light - as if it were a feather that would go flying if you so much as sneezed near it. He turned to the dumbfounded magician "but _they_ don't know that, do they?"

"They're _bandits_, they don't even know where they _are_." the reptilian replied doubtfully, rolling onto his back and folding his arms judgingly on the grass. The sky was _still _darkening: perhaps it was later than he thought? "You know, I found a bandit the other day near Riften who thought he was in South-West _Cyrodil_."

"Okay, that's right - bandits are thicker than troll droppings." Stradlater nodded, trying to keep the Argonian on board. If there was any explanation for the idiocy of common criminals, it was their repeated partaking in recreational narcotics - another word for "_freaky fungus_". "They probably also think that both Khajit and _Argonians _and any other race that isn't human or mer are _all_ Skooma salesmen."

"... You're _suggesting_ that I _pretend_ to be a Skooma merchant?" Wonders questioned, prompting the burly warrior to nod approvingly. "You're _suggesting_ that _I_ distract him with the promise of moonsugar-based drugs?" he spat, and the warrior nodded again. To be perfectly honest he was glad he was wearing a helmet, otherwise the insulted Argonian would've probably head-butted him. "Redguards, all of you are _racists._" he spat, looking skywards once more.

"Saying that we Redguards are racist as a race _alone_ is a _very_ racist thing to say." Stradlater replied, uttering so many variations of the word "race" that he felt he must've gotten a few mixed up. The Argonian didn't seem to have a response prepared in advance for that, causing him to pause in deliberation.

"I'm the _minority_." he mumbled shyly, his nostrils flaring with suppressed rage. "I've... Got R-Word privileges."

The darkened knight shook his head and began tugging at flowers, tossing great handfuls of wildlife into the sacks to try and make them look larger. "Have you got any _better _ideas?" he asked, prompting the magician to at last give up. The Argonian joined him at the wheelbarrow, forking all sorts of things into the wheelbarrow to try and make it look like something a respectable and honest merchant of illegal and stolen goods would push. "I'll be right behind you." Stradlater reassured.

"Using me as a human shield for the incoming storm of _arrows_, no doubt." Wonders grumbled, reaching for his satchel and tossing the honey-coated pouch into the container with a damp squelch. With a grunt of effort he heaved the wheelbarrow to its singular namesake, shaking his head in shame. "This'll do _wonders_ for my reputation you know."

"You haven't _got_ a reputation." the Redguard pointed out, making for the knoll and spotting the target once more - still standing, still stupid.

"... I was working on it." he muttered, tightening his hood to try and look more scummy. Cracking his neck from side to side, hunching himself over and waving his tail to flex its stiff nerves, he began to push.

_He made it one metre._

The wobbly wheel found itself trapped in a pothole, the rickety device being unsuited for the harsh terrain Skyrim offered. Looking to his colleague like a lost puppy would stare at a lion, the Redguard grudgingly slipped over and pried it up. Wonders nodded thankfully and continued his march, swerving left and right to dodge gaps in the path.

_This place had more potholes than plotholes in the Lusty Argonian Maid._

With deliberate slowness to accentuate the shady feel, Wonders lurked forward whilst humming a hermit's tune. Eventually he came within the vision of the bandit doorstop, yet for some reason the hairy-eared criminal _still _hadn't noticed him. The Argonian hummed louder, putting significant emphasis on the creak of his wheelbarrow of wares. Eventually, he had to resort to throwing a _tomato_ from one of the barrels at him.

"_Oi_!" the man grumbled, running out from his post to try and spot where the assailant was. His greasy blonde plaits swung left and right, until at last he spotted the wheelbarrow - and then the person pushing it. "What was that? Did you see?" he questioned, pacing forwards.

"Hmm? Sorry?" Wonders purred, feigning confusion. Spotting the distinctive red mark of tomato-juice on the man's arm, he gestured at it pityingly. "My, that's a _terrible_ stain now isn't it?"

He followed the Argonian's finger. "That's a _tattoo_." he pointed out, flexing his arm - tomato juice dripping from his _other _shoulder. "In memory of my _mother_."

"It's a _tattoo_." he repeated, swallowing nervously and awkwardly. He wasn't quite a master at deciphering Nords, but it was safe to say that they hadn't had a good start. "Okay, anyway..." he coughed, beginning again."I've been hearing about your exploits here at Redoran's Retreat young _sir_, and was hoping that perhaps this one time and at this _precise_ circumstance that I could offer you some of my wares... Maybe?"

"Well, that depends mate." he mumbled, a slimy digit raising to dig at his snotty nasal passage. Pulling out a hefty lump of goo, he flicked it away - you could practically hear the thump as if it were the foot of a giant. "What've you got?"

"Oh, _plenty _of stock." Wonders assured, reaching over the wheelbarrow and pulling open a sack. "_Plenty, _we've got... Uhhh..." he nervously dug around for something, producing item after item to try and appease the foolish bandit. "A bee... And... _Another_ bee... A bit of grass there, a rock..." haphazardly he tossed all of these items back into the sack and sealed it shut like a nursery child at tidy-up time, raising a finger as if his dad owned a dealership "Oh, and of _course_ there is the all time number one."

"What's that?" the bandit questioned, tilting his head in fascination. The sight of a bloodied iron war-axe on a stranger's belt tends to fill you with fear, yet the Nord - while large - wasn't going for it and chopping Wonder's head off like a proper bandit would. "Something _good_?"

"I'm of course talking about _Strad_-?" Wonders was caught mid-speech by the sight of the Redguard slipping in from behind, crouched low like the finest Shadowscale on the hunt for the Dark Brotherhood. "Laa... Taaataataaa..." he trailed off, flicking his tongue nervously.

"Stradla... Tar-tar?" the bandit echoed, raising a quizzical eyebrow. Maybe his leather helmet was strapped on too tight, because for some reason he hadn't noticed the warrior's pathetic attempt at stealth. "Never heard of that, is it some sort of cuisine for you damned _frog_ men?"

"Sorry, _Skooma_!" he corrected awkwardly, wondering if Stradlater could move any slower. Doing his damndest to ignore the frog comment, he patted an empty barrel like a professional goods peddler. "Literal _tonnes_ of _Skooma _in here, yessir - enough to OD a _mammoth_..." he rested a friendly hand on the Nord's shoulder, only to pull it away covered in tomato juice, sweat, dandruff and grease. "... You want some? It's _good_."

"I'm sorry, but no." he refused, bowing his head respectfully. "I'm a vegetarian you see."

Wonders paused, his tail freezing mid-wag. "A _vegetarian?"_

"I don't eat meat."

"Yes, I know what _vegetarian_ means you daft Nord." he spat, the merchant act briefly giving way to the "I hate you, you thick-ugly barbarian" act that frequented the Argonian. With trained grace Stradlater tugged at his sheath, slowly drawing his scimitar with a hiss of steel. "What's that got to do with good old fashioned skooma? _Skoooooma_?!" Wonders growled loudly, holding notes to try and cover the sound of the Redguard's blade slipping from its scabbard.

"Oh... " the bandit mumbled casually, as if he'd just realised that some crumbs from a cheese wheel had fallen on his shirt. "Not much actually."

Stradlater stood up and raised his blade high, planning to slam the bandit over the head with its pommel to lay him out. Wonders snarled, having experienced far too much stupidity today to tolerate it any further. "Then why in the name of the _archmage _did you bring it up, you _thick_ son of a-"

The Redguard brought his weapon down upon the Nord, and with a loud, dull conk it landed true - rebounding off his helmet and sent a shock up the blade. In one swift motion the curved steel was thrown by the excruciating recoil, giving the bandit just enough time to spot the warrior falling flat on his arse, dazed and confused for the moment. In panic he turned back to the merchant only to meet a boney, scaly wrist with a knuckle-sandwich bearing similar traits glued onto it, which smashed against his jaw and dislodged one of several brass teeth alongside one loud, agonising _crunch_.

_He was out before he hit the ground._

_Well, to be honest he was probably out before they'd even got there._

"Bloody... By the _mangroves _that_ hurt!"_ Wonders hissed ferally, waving his wounded hand back and forth and kissing the torn scales. After a moment of resembling a mud-crab on its back Stradlater sat up, fumbling for his Yokuudan scimitar and returning it to its rightful place at his side. "Nice one, _fool_. Where would you be without me here to fix your _mistakes_, hmm?"

"Says the one who just punched an _armoured_ man." Stradlater grumbled in response, reaching over to the stinking Nord and feeling for his pockets. After grabbing a certain piece of anatomy that made him feel rather inadequate a few times too many, he managed to pull out a silver key-ring from the man's pockets. He held it in the light of the falling sun, turning it between his guarded fingertips as if he were a prospector who'd just struck diamond. "Here, he's got the key to the door. Let's go."

The two huddled together at the doorway like a couple hiding from the rain, the large Redguard fiddling with the key-ring and inserting one at random. A click, followed by the duo's exasperated sighs. "... Wrong key, hold on... _This_ one." Stradlater corrected, popping the door open with a key that was clearly labelled "front door". Wonders frowned as his companion tugged his shield from his back, taking up the rear of the procession as per usual.

"Well I don't know about _you,_ but if we can deal with _one_ we've got this _sorted._"

With a shaken skull, a bloodied fist and a bottom covered in dried honey and tomato juice, the two adventurers entered the dark confines of Redoran's Retreat.

X

(A/N): I'm getting more and more nervous about the quality of these the further I get... I guess that's why I prefer writing oneshots xD

Well, this has gone from a planned two chapter fic to a three chapter - and possibly even _four _chapter one! Will our heroes succeed in their quest? Tune in next time, same elder-time, same elder-channel!


	3. Pest Control

**The Daily Round**

(A/N): Here we go; the big three. Time for me to see if I can actually write combat scenes, or if I'm just as sucky at that as I've always been! xD

Also, just started reading the first Elder Scrolls novel "Infernal City". It's quite good so far, and I can't help but see similarities between Annaig & Glim with Stradlater & Wonders :P

Well, until the second book and junk...

Off we go, hold onto your underpants elastic!

WARNING: Spelling errors, some bad language, pretty much an entirely OC cast, butchery of canon, and some poorly written violence!

**Chapter 3: Pest Control**

_Drip, drip, drip._

For some god-forsaken reason that repetitive, monotonous drone frequented the many lairs and grottos that dotted Tamriel. Be you in the snowy, chilling drifts of Skyrim or the scorching, blistering winds of Hammerfell you'd never have a complete dungeon without the ongoing tempo of water dribbling through the clay-work.

_Drip, drip, drip._

As Stradlater led his dumbfounded companion through the twisting caves, he came to wonder if there was some sort of legal requirement involving the sound of droplets. Maybe every bandit camp came equipped with a half-broken faucet that simply couldn't be turned off all the way? That'd explain all the knee-deep puddles you found in over-run forts.

_Probably explained the dank stench of their wolf skins._

_Drip, drip, drip._

"Damned _gaspers_ and their hygiene..." Silent-He-Wonders spat, tip-taloning on his scaly feet to try and prevent contact with the muddied ground; only the Gods knew why he avoided wearing boots like they caused rockjoint. "What are they, knobbly kneed teenagers with grease issues? It smells like the back end of a _Dunmer _in here." The Argonian tugged at the hem of his robe like a handmaid dodging mice – rather polarising to the hardened giant ahead of him.

The Redguard wiggled his jaw dubiously, peering around a corner with all the stealth and charm of a stampeding horde of mammoths in the heat. "… Remind me, _how_ do you know what that smells like?" he pressed, "Do you have past experiences sniffing the bottoms of Dark Elves, or was it just an educated guess?"

Wonders was clearly about to go for the latter option, only to do a double take more delayed than the Thalmor response to the Oblivion Crisis."… Well, _actually_." he hissed lowly, the image of the bottoms of elvish whores filling is mind's eye. The Dunmer may have been amoral monsters with fewer rights to life than a home-made tea cosy in his peepers, but that didn't change the fact that _some_ of their womenfolk had rather admirable curves. "There was that one time at the _Peppermint Spriggan _whe-"

"No." he frowned. With a grunt of effort Stradlater hauled himself – and his armour – across a bump in the path. "_He_ wasn't a Dunmer." He pointed out, offering his hand to the Argonian only to have it turned down. Bandits _really _needed to work on their interior decorating – debris and rubble in hallways were a potential tripping hazard for bumbling adventurers such as theirselves. The Redguard tilted his visor, glaring at his companion in judgement, "_He _was a Breton."

"Bretons, Dunmers…" the Argonian dismissed in the way one would say 'pish, posh', returning his scaled hands to his honey-soaked pockets with a distinct squelch. After a painfully awkward pause, his nostrils flared indignantly "… You _sure_ it was a he?"

"He had a _beard_." Stradlater growled lowly, shaking his head. "He told you to call him _Norman._" He continued, prompting Wonders to grumble in realisation. The _Peppermint Spriggan_ was a "pleasure bar" that the two had had the misfortune of stumbling across in Solitude during the early days of their work together. Of course to the Imperials – the sort of people who instead of kissing cheeks _dry-humped_ eachother for traditional greetings – "Pleasure" didn't mean sweet rolls, ale or smoking pipes as they had previously expected.

It meant _sex_.

Loud, constant, wide-spread, guilt-free _sex_.

"Yeah, well, _Norman…" _Wonders stuttered, trying to chuckle in a friendly manner only to resemble a desperate murderer trying to explain a slaying to the town guard whilst continuing to stab the corpse. "I-I thought it was part of the gag!" he suggested, prompting a disagreeing scoff from the Redguard. "You know what those _madmen_ in Cyrodiil are into!"

_That Prince Attrebus bloke got around more than the Thrassian Plague, didn't he?_

The rusted joints of his mail jangled with strain as the warrior peeked around another corner, before sauntering through once the coast was clear. "Remember the _act_ he did on our table?" he asked. The Argonian followed suit, sneakily rubbing his honey-coated fingers against the rough back of Stradlater's armour like a toddler flicking snot.

"… Don't mention what _it _did on the table." He groaned, the image of flailing genitals having burnt into his retinas. Perhaps it was akin to post-traumatic stress disorder: He'd convinced himself that the _Spriggan _had never happened, yet here was his closest friend personally reminding him of the most terrifying moment in his life – some friend, eh? "On my _lap… _I never knew _anything _could bend that far…"

_Neither had he._

_Rest assured, it put them both off their pints._

_Drip, drip, drip._

Most bandit camps this close to civilisation were short ventures, often having been iron mines reclaimed by thugs that were dug at a slant rather than as deep shafts. It surprised Stradlater how far they had been winding without resistance – did people _frequent _this dubious path? "It's too quiet." He grumbled, his scimitar at the ready as he squatted down. Perhaps the bandits had been tipped off? They hadn't been particularly quiet when they'd initially arrived. "Feels like something's _fishy_, stay low."

"I'm semi-_aquatic_ you know." Wonders commented dryly, before joining Stradlater in his crouched position. Running his talons across the muddied ground to keep his balance, he pursued the fleet footed knight that led him irritably. They'd been through this drill plenty of times before.

_No doubt it'd end the same way too._

Bursting from cover to cover like rejects from the Penitus Oculatus, the two dropped and rolled through several jagged corridors at a snail's pace. Eventually whoever designed the Retreat decided that the twisting path was getting boring, because within a matter of moments the cave suddenly opened up into a large opening the size of your average Nordic cottage. Freshly made, candle-lit bedrolls to the right indicated that the area surely had inhabitants – as did barrels upon buckets upon chests of supplies to their left in a rough and wobbly circle, as if they were a small group of mothers discussing recent developments at home.

Like the tip of a compass on the northern pole of the world, Wonder's prehensile tale gestured at the haul with surprisingly feminine grace. Stradlater watched on curiously as the lizard practically frolicked away, before sinking to his knees and – among other things – sniffing, listening to and _chewing _on one of the barrels. Wonders tore open the top of a barrel, the strong stench of its contents filling the air. "… _Payday_." He muttered after a brief delay, fishing into it haphazardly.

When the Argonian pulled out its contents, Stradlater couldn't resist pointing out the facts. "That's a cabbage." he mumbled, sheathing his blade and slinging his shield over his shoulder. The magician rolled his eyes at this comment, yet continued to bury his snout into the container. "You'd make more profit selling your _toenails_ to _Hagravens_."

"You really think that septims and _breasts_ are all I care about, don't you?" Wonders growled. The Redguard started nodding before his companion had even finished making his accusation, to which the Argonian responded by peeling off a layer of the disgusting vegetable and placing it on his tongue. "For the most part, you're _absolutely right. _But food is _food_, Redguard; The _Hist_ knows why there's so much in here!"

The visor was up again with a poorly greased squeal – it sounded like a city butchers during a national festival every time the metal whined. "We're in a _bandit camp_, take a wild guess." Stradlater turned to examine the bed-rolls, frowning at their messy state – just what in Nirn would motivate someone to become a bandit? Sometimes it sickened him that for some people this _truly_ was a better life. He reached for a lit candlestick and used it to ignite another to brighten the shadowed room, glancing back at his giddy colleague. "… Also, let me stress that _we're in a bandit camp._ You're acting like a child."

Wonders snickered, his voice muffled by a large amount of food stuck in his gob. "And _you're_ acting like a stuck-up_ grandmother._" He screwed the barrel top back in place, attempting to shift the heavy load from its position. "Loosen up a little, yes?"

"_Loosen_ _up_?" The Redguard repeated with gritted teeth, only needing the clouded spectacles and a hand-bag to fit the Argonian's description to the letter. Stradlater wandered over, the flickering light of the candles casting an unnerving shadow befitting of a frost troll across the wall. "I'm not _tight_ or anything. I'm perfectly fine."

The magician paused for a fraction of a moment, like he'd just dropped a soul gem that was the same colour as the carpet. "Hmph, that's evidence enough." he eventually shrugged, feebly continuing to tug on the potential gold mine of loot. "So you really _are _gay, and frequently too it seems!"

Perhaps the weight of his helmet was slowing down his thought process, because it took more than a pretty moment for Stradlater to understand what the slimy draconian reject was going on about. "... Oh." he said bluntly after a significant amount of time, his voice cracking awkwardly"… S-Shut up and get back to your _looting_."

"The _Spriggan_ was home sweet home for you, eh?" Wonders pressed, his elongated tongue punctuating an amused hiss. Even with his entire body flexing in perfect harmony, the barrel refused to budge - like an uncooperative child at the sweet section of a town bakery.

The desert warrior folded his arms, the thick muscle still visible - and still _rippling -_ even through layers of iron and brass and chainmail. He leant against the wall, "Says the one who wanted a pint there in the first place."

The Argonian snorted dismissively - a snotty snort, he was quite proud of it. "I was _thirsty!"_

"Thirsty for a shag?"

"Well!" Wonders shouted abruptly, crossing his legs and sitting on the floor to rest his spent form. "Well." he repeated, glancing at the Redguard dubiously. Stradlater seemed to reel back and become one with the wall, noticing a somewhat maniacal gleam in the reptilian's crimson eyes - the sort you wouldn't want to see on a powerful and racist mage in complete control of the elements. "… Mayb-"

Wonders initially felt quite insulted by the warrior's shouting interruption, watching him like a mother at sports day as he darted for the ground and landed in a smooth action roll that would snap all but the sturdiest of spines. It took another moment of processing to realise why in Oblivion he'd just thrown himself forward - two men had appeared from around the corner, and the blade of a war axe appeared to be embedded roughly where the Redguard's face had been moments ago.

"Ready yourself." Stradlater hissed, drawing his blade and strafing alongside the magician. Wonders chewed on a chunk of cabbage that stubbornly clung to his teeth, clicking his neck and shifting his position to one a tad bit less casual. Stradlater roared a command again, _"Move!"_

Thankfully the desert wanderer managed to grab him by the scruff of his robe and pull him away as one of the bandits charged forward with a blood-curling warcry, smashing his axe down and cleanly cutting the barrel of foodstuff in twain. Their pulses finally kicking into gear, Wonders gasped in sorrow as the thick, unmistakable green goo of his wounded loot oozed across the Retreat's floor. He howled horrifically, "My_ cabbages!"_

The axeman wheezed in disgust - a large Nord dressed in poor, mismatched steel plate. No doubt he was the leader of the big band of bad bandits, what with the second man - a weedy Imperial with a rusted dagger - wearing less armour than your average Legion conscript. "By the _Eight!" _he spat in horror, turning to his Imperial boytoy, "What is that _ugly _creature, Flavius?"

Wonders tracked an accusatory finger jammed right towards his chest, much to his chagrin. "Well _that's _not very nice." he frowned, his adrenaline-stiffened tail desperately trying to calm. He hopped onto the tips of his talons and stretched upward to rest a friendly hand on Stradlater's shoulder. "It's just a_ Redguard_."

"I'm not a fan of _jokers._" the chief muttered, sharpening his axe-head across the stone to let off a bone-chilling shriek. "I'll come for _you_ first_._"

"Y-You will?" Wonders squeaked, the low bellow of the Nord's hostile voice filling him with an animalistic fear. His heart jumped from his chest, did a loop-de-loop around his kidneys and ended up slap bang in the middle of his small intestine as the Nord stared into his eyes - not even blinking. The Argonian tried to think of a good comeback, "Yeah? Well, uhh... _Okay_."

He couldn't tell if it was his imagination or not, but Stradlater appeared to step closer in an almost protective manner "Whiterun wants your _head_." he muttered in his own deepness, the battle of manly voices being enough to stain women's underwear with syrup for miles on end. The scarred warrior pointed the vicious tip of his scimitar at the Nord, his grip steady. "We're here to _deliver_ and I'm on a _clock_, now let's get this over with."

Leaning forward like the partner of a drunken husband apologising for him vomiting on a party roast, Wonders held up a finger and mouthed 'one second' before tapping on his companion's shoulder and whispering cautiously, "Redguard, there're _two_ of them and _one _of you." he pointed out, more than comfortable with the prospect of running away with his tail quite literally between his legs. "Are you _sure_ about this?"

Stradlater frowned, nudging the Argonian with his elbow. "Aren't you going to _help_ me?"

"_Help_ you?" Wonders repeated, sounding like he'd just seen a stripper jump out of his birthday cake only to realise she was his mother. He licked his non-existent lips in thought, realising what being friends with an adventurer entailed. "... Oh yeah, I'm meant to do _that_ aren't I? Right, got it."

"Quit _yapping_!" The Nord roared in frustration, slamming his axe into the dirt and leaning against its pummel like a farmer looming over his crops during the harvest. "Do I have time to hunt some deer? Maybe... Go on a trip to _Solstheim_?"

Maybe mentioning Solstheim as a holiday destination rather than the beautiful and _entirely_ non-toxic swamps of Black Marsh was the last straw, because Wonders hastily went for his weapon as soon as the bandit finished his muttering. Unhooking its shaft from his sash, the Argonian heaved a large, rusted, _glowing _Orcish Mace and weighed it against his palm. He'd used it since novicehood to practice his enchantments on, but like a girl and her teddy he simply couldn't bear to part with it. He eyed the Imperial with the sort of look that conveyed the phrase 'size means everything', before turning to his knightly colleague. "I call her _Tater-Masher."_

Stradlater had never seen much of a point in naming weapons, but to be honest the Argonian's choice of name and gender intrigued him. Despite his magical potency he had a frightful tendency to bludgeon things to death whenever he had the chance - it was a blessing _and _a curse more often than not. "_Her_?"

"Only _women_ can mash taters." he reminded, daringly gesturing at his twin spuds with the _head_ rather than the pommel of his mace. The Redguard squinted and cringed painfully, his lips curled in familiarity with the single universal weakness of blokes. After a moment's time Wonders couldn't help but correct himself. "... Well, _some_ men can too but that's a story left for the _Spriggan."_

Armed and ready the duo of adventurers stood opposite of the pair of bandits, barely a few metres of muddied ground between them. Wonders and the small Imperial 'Flavius' turned to the larger men they accompanied, who with their weapons drawn appeared to be side-stepping, hopping, or otherwise articulating to try and ready theirselves for battle. With an exchange of shrugs, the two weedier fellows mimicked them like young children with military dads.

After a moment of staring down the competition, Wonders couldn't help but believe the Imperial was undressing him in his mind's eye - no doubt searching for any weak spots he could "... Can _I_ get the smaller one?" he asked shyly, garnering a delayed but positive nod from his burly companion. Awkwardly stepping past eachother to swap positions, the Argonian grinned in thanks. "Cheers, two septims, a sweet roll _and_ an enchantment on the house if we get out of this kicking."

Stradlater paused in consideration, bowing his head and clutching onto his scimitar. Eventually the desert warrior simply shrugged his shield from his shoulder in indifference, pulling down his visor and muttering one last phrase. "... Fair enough."

The Nord's distinctive bellow echoed throughout Redoran's Retreat once more, as he raised his axe above his head and charged enthusiastically across the cavern. Assuming a lower, almost streamlined posture Stradlater met his fury with his own Yokuudan tongue as he threw himself forward, bracing his shield for a bash. The two men slammed against eachother loudly, before feinting back and letting their blades clash in rhythm.

In contrast the Imperial hesitantly tip-toed over, his muddied dagger pointed outwards in an attempt to threaten the Argonian - who he was obviously terrified of. "N-Now listen here!" he squeaked, his voice cultured and educated - no doubt he was nothing more than an unruly young man with a loud opinion about politics. "I'm... I-I'm going to _stab_ you a few times, got it?!"

"With _that_?" Wonders scoffed, resting his mace on his shoulder. "Looks more like the sort of thing you get in _playsets_, _boy_!" he taunted, swinging his tail into view with open hostility. The musk of battle generated from his scales, piercing the thick air with its furious aroma. "Now bring that lovely head of yours here so I can _smash it off._"

The Imperial decided to cut through the veil of fear by screaming loudly, sounding like an elk half way through shagging something. He held his dagger aloft, preparing to slam it down in Wonder's general direction. "_Die!"_

In a surprisingly elegant motion Wonders swept his mace across the ground, clipping the Imperial's legs and throwing him flat onto his back. 'Flavius' - a name so generic it was probably taken from a book cover - rocked back and forth helplessly like a mudcrab trying to haul itself back onto its feet, yet his motions were quickly silenced by the Argonian's efforts. Swinging horizontally he slapped the young bandit square across the cheeks with his Tater-Masher, knocking loose a couple of teeth and sending him off to la la land as a drooling, gory, mud-stained simpleton.

"_Nap time_." he hissed lowly, turning the unconscious man over onto his front with his clawed feet. Standing over his felled foe, the bloodied magician returned his mangled mace to its rightful place on his sash. He dusted his hands, "Right, now _that's _over with." he glanced back at the remaining barrels, ignoring the sound of clashing blades as he skipped over Flavius and fished into his satchel for a well-honeyed lockpick. "There's a _chest_ back here..." he began, dropping to his knees and reaching around the pile of barrels. "Give me a moment..."

Parrying a heavy-handed swing and blocking another, Stradlater strafed backwards on the defensive as the Nordic berserker pressed his advance. There was a simple approach to men like this - wait for the inevitable error, and _exploit_ it. A vertical cleave that was going for his skull narrowly missed, smashing into the dirt and wedging between the rocks. It'd take a fraction of a second longer to bear it for another slash, yet it was more than enough to push on. The Redguard swung sideways like an explorer macheting his way through the foliage of Elsweyr, causing the bandit chief to tug his axe away and defend himself.

_It'd been a while since he'd fought someone fun._

"Do you _really _want to start a fight with me, _Redguard_?" the bandit asked between parries, attempting to strike back only to be countered by a well-placed riposte that he had no choice but to back away from. He almost sounded casual - as if this _wasn't_ a matter of life and death. "You're _really _in over your head!"

Stradlater rammed his shoulder into the bandit's chest, opening a gap between them. "I don't start fights, _Nord._" he muttered as he backed away - almost tripping over the snoring body of the floored Imperial. "I _finish _them_."_

The Nord simply chuckled, coating his beard in a fresh coat of slobber before charging right back into the fray with overwhelming force. The Redguard threw up his shield and braced against it, yet the muscular bandit flew at him like a sabre-tooth cat. He fell to the floor - his shield spinning across the dirt and out of reach. He barely had time to roll away from a killing finisher, kicking his opponent in the knee to off-balance him before deftly pushing back to his feet.

"_Bollocks."_ Wonders spat, a muffled swear punctuating the snapping of a pick much to his annoyance. Placing another between his teeth, he briefly glanced over at the ensuing duel. "Need a hand, Redguard?" he mumbled lazily, adjusting the chest's position before removing the pick and getting back to work.

"No!" he gasped sarcastically between pants, leaping over a low blow and thrusting his scimitar forward. The Nord caught the blade with his well-plated armpit, pulling to the left to try and pry it from his grip. Stradlater followed the bandit's motion and was swung sideways - yet thankfully managed to keep himself armed. Stumbling against the walls of the cavern, he spared a brief glance at his colleague. "I'm perfectly _fine, _really!"

"Ahh, I see." he smiled, bearing all the charm and grace of a pastor at a religious mass. "Rooting for you, _friend_!" he called, placing the side of his hooded head against the strongbox and humming to himself happily as he listened for clicks. He could swear that Flavius was beginning to stir from his nap, and felt obliged to do the world a favour by applying blunt trauma to his head wound. The young man was out cold once again, a second bruise featuring on his chops.

_He was helping - those marks would get him plenty of pity points from the ladies at home!_

A chop, a crack, and a growl. "_Pathetic!_" the bandit spat, eying the scurrying Redguard in disgust. For a fighter from a supposed nation of natural warriors, he was sickened that all he seemed to do was _run._ He patted the head of his axe, continuing his assault. "Fight back, coward! _Fight back_!"

Twirling his curved blade Stradlater parried blow after blow, his muscles flexing with strain as the berserk Nord's swings grew more and more brutal. Catching a clumsy lunge he clipped the tip of his sword under the beard of his foe's axe, locking his weapon in place. "Give me a chance and I'll _oblige!_"

In a swift motion he took control of the man's axe, dragging it to the right and pulling his arms away painfully. With a window to attack he span around with a vicious backwards slash, cutting a gash across the Nord's chest. He stumbled back in pain, having narrowly dodged being decapitated as he clambered to renew his grip on his weapon. "You _sod..." _he growled through gritted teeth, the swing managing to pierce the leather straps and joints that sat between his armoured plates.

"You _asked_ for it." Stradlater smirked behind his visor, stepping back and assuming his battle stance once more. He was growing fatigued, yet the Nord only seemed more and more enraged - he'd have to finish him soon if he were to stand any chance at all. "Steel yourself,_ chief_."

Ignoring the wound the Nord brought his axe to bear once more, eying the Redguard with contempt. A forward step transformed into a leap. "When I'm done with you, you'll be _begging _for magic in Hammerfell!"

A pile of flimsy mismatched metal sat around Wonder's knees up to his waist, making the area a hazard to anyone who felt like walking in bare feet - namely _him._ The last of his picks snapped, jettisoning its tip into the air and sending it flying across the Retreat like a shooting star. "_Donkey_ bollocks_." _he hissed, stepping up his standard of swearing by doubling the word count. "Never was _that_ good with picks, I tell you - family trait." he laughed at no one in particular, causing Flavius to respond with a pained groan. Stepping over to the Imperial he raised his head and conked it against the ground, rolling up his sleeves and forking through the pockets of the bandit's furry armour. "There must be another in here _somewhere._.."

Having a mass of sweaty muscle flying at you is never a good thing, but it's made ever more perilous if the mass is a giant Nordic bandit wielding an axe with the sole intent of murdering you in the most violent manner possible. Strangely enough this was actually quite a common predicament in the barren lands of Skyrim - although everyone had their first, and this was Stradlater's. With no shield to rely on this time, he instinctively raised his hands to try and fend him off.

_No dice._

The Nord's axe met him square in his the chest, denting through his armour and slicing into his flesh like a knife jabbed into bread. The Redguard was floored within an instant, pinned to the ground and dazed for a fraction of a second. If the Nord acted there and then he would've been able to kill the desert warrior with one swift stroke, yet a moment dedicated to a battle cry gave Stradlater time to get his bearings and grab hold of the Nord's weapon. The two found theirselves pushing towards eachother powerfully - a reverse tug of war with a much more gruesome end for the loser.

"A little _help_!" Stradlater roared with effort, clutching onto the rotten shaft of the bandit's weapon and wrestling with him for dominance. He shook like an unruly hound covered in muck at a dinner date, doing all he could to throw the muscular Nord off him - yet he just kept _pushing_. "_Come on_..." he muttered ferally, glaring into the bloodshot eyes of the chief upon him. He was losing more and more breathing room as he was pushed back, the serrated and bloodied head of the thug's axe begging to have a taste of his throat. The Nord either grinned or grimaced as he leant his weight further, prompting the Redguard to growl in desperation as the air began to vacated his lungs. His eyesight began to wane, and a cry he felt would be his last tore from his lips.

"_Wonders!"_

With a crackle of energy and a hiss of rage, the magician span from his place and gestured at the chief with pointed digits. Orbs of azure filled his palms, thick sparks of raw power surging through the brittle bones of his fingers and massing at the tips of his blunt talons. The bandit probably had enough time to register the sound of his impending death, yet was likely deafened by his own screams of agony as bolts of pure lightning struck at his spine. His muscles spasmed as if he were a child on a sugar rush, his weapon flying from his hands and clattering to the muddied rocks. Stradlater struggled to pull himself away, sputtering and staring at the jittering body as it toppled from atop him and began to convulse on the floor. The cutthroat's armour was glowing a beautiful orange, the overload of magic literally _cooking_ him alive – that wasn't a healthy long-term life plan, that's for certain.

"Eck." The bandit said bluntly. "_Uggghaa_…" he struggled to pronounce, keeling over into the featle position. The Nordic criminal opened his mouth to utter one last word in the ancient and universal tongue of torment, yet finally froze and fell stiff. Wonders wandered over to the motionless corpse, sneering at it irritably – it smelt like the _Bannered Mare_; like urine and burnt meat.

"Well…" Wonders muttered, looking at his gasping and shaken companion. He offered the Redguard a sparking hand, yet he quickly threw himself to his feet with what was left of his adrenaline. The desert warrior turned his gaze to the steaming body, ignoring the ticklish drops of blood running down the head-wound from his fall. "… Thought you had him." The magician sighed, kicking the carcass around a couple of times as if it were pork on a spit.

Stradlater shrugged his shoulders, "I did at first." He groaned, rubbing his injuries gently. Part of him feared that he was losing his touch, even with the odds stacked against him. "But he nearly had _me _there."

"I was talking to _him._" the Argonian frowned, pointing at the berserker in disappointment. He looked at his colleague with a surprising amount of concern in his eyes - any concern at all was a surprise to be honest. "… You're bleeding and _mortal_ by the way, I'd like to point that out so your body can _catch up _to the fact."

He'd experienced this feeling before - the sudden fade of energy as the body began to calm. Stradlater's limbs were growing heavy, and he fumbled to remove his helmet. "Give me a hand." he muttered quietly, peeling off his heavy chest plate and handing it to the Argonian.

"_Gay_." Wonders smirked in response, taking the plate and struggling to hold it under his arm with surprising obedience.

Stradlater shook his head, lightly leaning on the Argonian to keep himself on his two feet. "… _Shoulder, _support." he snickered beneath a frown. Ignoring the state that Wonders had left the Imperial bandit in, the knight gestured for them to move and with slow coordination they advanced. "We're finished here, let's go."

The mage flexed his fingers to let loose a small orb of light, the conjuring floating above their heads and guiding the way. "… You do realise you're staining my robe?" Wonders mumbled, a mixture of claret from the bandit chief and Stradlater rubbing against his clothing. "These things are hard to wash you know, and with what happened to _my_ cabbages… Costs a pretty penny."

Stradlater couldn't help but chuckle, tapping his helmet to a gentle tune. "Money, money, _money_..." he sighed, gradually pulling away and finding his own footing. "Always _money. _You're a _mean_ bastard sometimes."

Watching the scarred man wander ahead, Wonders turned to face the Retreat that they had left behind - he'd return for that loot at some point, no doubt about it. Returning his gaze to his colleague, he couldn't help but cringe at the wounds he bore - just another ageless imperfection that covered his charred, burnt body. "I'd _never_ have it any other way, friend."

The Redguard noticed the magician's stare, and turned away irritably. He could see the moonlight sieving through the doorway of the cavern - they'd spent quite some time down below, that was for certain. "… Yeah." he agreed, nudging the door open. The caress of the night air felt good on his scars - wonderful in fact. "Me neither."

A wisp of light heading their advance, the two began the trek back to Whiterun.

X

(A/N): THAT WAS AN AWKWARD FIGHT SCENE TO WRITE ;-;

At least it's done with... Now we've just got a bit of an epilogue, your torture is nearly finished chaps!

Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for the finale!


	4. Well Then?

**The Daily Round**

(A/N): The finale to this fic! I've got so many ideas ahead that my mind is in a complete tussle - continuations from this, more League fics, and even a Fallout series in a similar vein to this one! (That's right, after promising a Fallout fic back in 2011 I'm promising again in 2014! xD)

Finished both of the Elder Scrolls novels by the way, and while they had some good moments... In general it just felt rushed and poorly developed :/ (It felt like a fanfiction, but in a _bad _way if you know what I mean?)

Anywho, let's skip ahead to the ending of this fic!

WARNING: Spelling errors, some bad langauge, pretty much an entirely OC cast, butchery of canon, and a bit of an awkward discussion with bromantic connotations!

**Epilogue: Well then?**

"And _now..._" Wonders hissed conspiratorially, his tongue running across the bumps and daggers of his bottom row of teeth. The keep of Dragonsreach seemed surprisingly empty so late at night - save for the guards and Jarl Balgruuf himself, the nobles and courtiers appeared to have dispersed to their tenements. Seated on his throne at an angle that would've caused all but the most trained bottoms aches and sores, the Nord glared at the dastardly Argonian's words. "To discuss _my_ payment."

"There's no discussion to be made." he muttered dryly, glancing between the reptilian and his larger companion. The Redguard was bloodied, yet showed few signs of discomfort - nothing a nice flagon of ale wouldn't solve. Raising his hand in a distinctive fashion, a bald steward to his right quickly slinked away. "I have _already_ dispatched Avenicci to the treasury."

Wonders watched the man as he exited the scene, sniffing at the air like a shaggy dog in a bakery. "What's he getting me then?" he pressed, sounding like an eager girlfriend with significant materialistic issues. "A _ring_? _Pearls_? Perhaps some _soul gems_? Come on milord, I've got an enchanted old _mace _to feed!"

The Nord raised his eyebrow at that comment, yet his voice retained its authoritative, administrative tone. If all school teachers sounded as controlling as he did, the children of Skyrim would've been nuttier than your average Breton battlemage. "How am I to be sure that your actions were even _equitable_?"

Stradlater and Wonders exchanged glances, the creak of the Redguard's armour being the only audible response until the Argonian spoke up. "... Equooti-_what_ now?"

Jarl Balgruuf rephrased his question, translating it from Tamrielic to moron. "What if the deaths of those bandits becomes nothing more than a... A _catalyst _for more criminal action?"

The magician hopped onto his talons and whispered to the Redguard, who kept his shoulders forwards and his legs stiffer than a Dark Brotherhood assassin locked up with the Night Mother. "Well, if that's the case more fun for _me_ eh?"

Their manly voices competing for power, Stradlater spoke up lowly to the Jarl. "I assure you, your..." he paused, his inability to speak in the court yanking at his undergarments and stealing his voice. "... _Excellency_." he settled on, taking the Jarl's raised chin as a good sign. "They will _not_ be martyrs."

"I want to believe you, Redguard." Balgruuf admitted, in the tone of voice that conveyed the phrase _'Shut the hell up, you're speaking nonsense you idiotic little desert man with one eye' _as a subtle undertone. The prolific noble glanced over to his right for a moment, the dauntless visage of his Dunmer housecarl Irileth staring ever onwards - they'd been through Oblivion and back theirselves, if the phrase was appropriate. "But I've seen my fair share of cutthroats and villains. More shall come; in time."

Stradlater shrugged his shoulders in mild discomfort, bowing his head like an apologetic puppy who'd just pissed all over the bedsheets. Primarily due to his stubborn nature, the Argonian scoffed defiantly at this claim. "Bandits are like flies buzzing 'round a gigantic lump of mammoth _shi_-" a plated elbow jabbed at his ribs, releasing a weak hiss of air from his deflating lungs. "... You can't get rid of them _permanently _if the city exists, _milord_." he corrected, garnering a positive nod from the elbow jabbee to his flank.

"My Jarl, if I may..." Faelindra suddenly spoke up, having been uncharacteristically quiet since the return of the two mercenaries. Ascending the steps at his will, she mumbled something to him quietly. Wonders didn't know what was funnier: The fact that the Bosmer didn't have to lean over to whisper, or the Jarl's need to lower his head to listen to her words. Either way it brought a suppressed snicker - the contagious sort that often spread to friends, as Stradlater eventually realised.

After a moment of awkwardness Balgruuf let loose a long, airy sigh - like the protagonist of a children's novel waking up on the dawn of a new day. As the wood elf backpedalled to her usual post, the Jarl continued the conversation with the duo of adventurers as if nothing had happened. "Afraid so." he replied. The two muttered to each other in thought, trying to remember what they'd just said to deserve such a response. The Jarl thought nothing of it, continuing unimpeded. "Very well. Whiterun thanks you for your service to her people."

_That sounded less heartfelt than a Thalmor agent thanking a contact._

The Redguard bowed. "Thank you, _kindly_." he mumbled, gaining an accepting nod from the Jarl. He probably should've stopped there, but he kept on it - quantity over quality. "... Much obliged, I uhh... Hammerfell... Yes, _Hammerfell _returns the... With the _thingie_..." he continued, his fingers shyly tugging on the absent plumage of his helmet.

The Bosmeri housecarl shook her head judgingly, using her pointed chin to gesture away in a fashion perfected by women over the ages. "... You can _go_ now, Stradlater."

"O-Oh." he stuttered, bowing his head even further - if he were made of rubber, he'd been an inch away from slingshotting across the keep. Faelindra knew what he was going to say before he even began to shimmy backwards, his head at a ninety degree angle as he became a tripping hazard for the entire keep. "_Thank you_."

Eventually backing into one of the many lines of tables that filled the great hall's flanks, Stradlater sunk onto a seat and let his helmet fall to the floor with a dull clunk. Snarling with fatigue, he began to remove his armour - starting with his greaves. Wonders either didn't notice or didn't care, with the latter being far more probable as he continued his own unique brand of parley with the Jarl of Whiterun. "We still haven't discussed _my_ payment."

"I was _getting_ to that part." Balgruuf grumbled, palming his face in mild disgust. Maybe he was getting too used to his good friend - the Dovahkiin - doing odd jobs for the 'experience' it provided, although to be fair not all people in Nirn were as affluent as he. "I thought _heroes_ were in it for _honour_." he added, ignoring the desire to deem them mercenaries again.

"We aren't heroes." Wonders pointed out, idly stepping back as Faelindra wandered from her post. The odd look the Jarl gave her suggested it wasn't particularly part of her routine, yet he did nothing to stop her as she made her way towards the resting Redguard. "We're... _Neutrals, _at the best of times_."_

Faelindra selected a small half of loaf of bread from the assortment of food on the table - the chefs let the guards have the leftovers from feasts, leaving them on purpose after the clean up. With a lazy flop she landed alongside the silent desert warrior, ripping the pastry into two equal quarters. Stradlater glanced up from his lazed hunch to be met with a luke-warm chunk of food being dangled in front of his eyes by the Bosmer.

_She looked like a bloody dog-owner._

"You killed the _bastard_ then?" she asked casually.

Stradlater reached out to grab the bread, his stomach - while silent - begging for something to nibble on. He was correct to assume that she was talking about the bandit chief, who _certainly_ was a 'bastard' and _certainly_ was 'killed'. He tilted his head towards his Argonian companion, who seemed to be in the middle of throttling a steward. "_He_ did."

"Oh." she mumbled, before yanking it away. She made to stand, "Well, I'd better give this to _him_ then." Faelindra didn't hear the Redguard's pathetic mewl, but quickly fell back and passed the chunk over. "_Joking._"

Hardly containing himself he yoinked the foodstuff from her powerful fingers, cradling it in his hands like he'd just found one of the Elder Scrolls. As Faelindra munched on her own crunchy quarter, he couldn't help but turn and ask. "... What did you say to him?"

The wood elf raised her eyebrow, wondering why the Redguard was even interested. "What was there to say?" she reflected, causing the knight to shrug his shoulders - albeit, in a delayed fashion. "I said that you were speaking the truth, and that you could be trusted."

"_Hmph_." he scoffed, returning his gaze to the unfolding events before him. Irileth seemed to be involved now - no doubt a head was about to roll. "What happened to you hating me since... Well... _Forever?"_

"Stradlater, when I first met you I thought you were a cute, _stupid_, clumsy, socially _inadept_ walking _disaster_." she spoke from her heart, the sincerity of her words coming across as far too odd for him to decipher. They locked eyes for a moment, before she added: "... And I _still_ do." the Redguard grinned, glad to see that she hadn't gone soft. She rolled her eyes, chomping again and speaking with her mouth full in that characteristically unfeminine fashion she carried around those she knew well. "But you're naturally _honest_. I can tell if you're lying - you're _that_ bad at it."

The adventurer eventually nodded. "... Right." he said, "Don't know how I should react to that."

"By _eating_." she grinned, nudging his shoulder. The bread remained sat comfortably in his hands, as if it were an ancient artifact wielding ungodly power. "You look like you've been dragged through a rockslide tied to the back of a _Land_ _Dreugh_."

Scoffing at her words, he took a large, hungry bite out of the quarter - crumbs spew everywhere like the fragments of an ice spike that had just splattered someone's face in twain. "_You_ would know what that looks like, wouldn't you." he chuckled, to which she gently mimicked.

The two turned to watch once again, silence falling between them like the awkwardness of a boy meeting the parents of his girlfriend. Stradlater had a question on his mind that would probably bore all but the eldest of pensioners, yet Faelindra hastily beat him to the cake. "... How can you be friends with that _lizard_?"

"Mmpfuh?" he mumbled, sputtering on his food. Swallowing a tricky lump, he licked his charred lips. "What?"

"Wonders." she pointed out, observing him as he began hurling insults at the Dunmer - simultaneously forking septims and jewels into his pockets from an open chest sat in the Imperial steward's arms. "He's so pompous, so careless, so hostile... _Why_ do you even journey with him?"

She had quite the point. He hadn't really thought of it that much in the past - why else did he continue to leap to such a neutral response? "... It's a laugh, isn't it?"

Faelindra frowned, lowering her brow in consideration. "... Who is he, really?"

"More than he says he is, that's for sure." he muttered, swallowing the last of his loaf. With a rusted crunch he yanked off one of his pauldrons, revealing a bare - and blackened - arm. He could remember the day he became branded by flame - he could remember the day that the Argonian had desperately tried to save him. "I guess he's like me in the end - a dead man walking."

The Bosmeri snickered dryly - not in amusement, but rather acknowledgement. Avenicci had close the chest on the Argonian's claw, stopping him for taking too much from the treasury; whilst simultaneously getting his own back. "He'll be on his way to the _noose_ if he keeps talking like he does."

Wonders had been a member of the College of Whiterun once; emphasis on _once._ "He probably already is..." Stradlater whispered to himself, garnering the gaze of the woman alongside him. How long had he known Wonders? He couldn't even remember when they _met_. "... To keep him safe." the knight suddenly announced, "... Yeah, that's why."

Faelindra did her best owl impression - from the eyes to the neck. "Sorry?"

"We've been through _fire_, Fae." he sighed, uncomfortable memories coming to pass. If there was a _single _reason he journeyed with the Argonian, it was because of that one fateful day - Morthal, the trees like candles bathed in light. "Fire, brimstone, _blood_, _blades_, tooth, and _claw_..." he muttered, peeling more of his plate to reveal his dirtied, sweaty Ra Gardan robes. "Beneath those scales lies a _heart_, you know."

The Mer fell quiet. "Stradlater..."

"We're outcasts. We _need_ eachother." he insisted, irritably rubbing his single twitching eye. "And by the sands - _and_ the trees - _and _the Nine - _and whatever else - _we'll keep eachother _safe_."

She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. Between logic and emotion, she was actually having a bit of a hard time. "You haven't been here long." she noted, the two having been checked in at the city gates and the Bannered Mare inn merely weeks ago. "Where are you going to _go_?"

He shrugged his shoulders - uncertainty filling his gravelly tone. "We don't stay in one place too long, but..." Stradlater couldn't help but admire the Nordic architecture; the atmosphere of the hold, the bustling, chilly streets, the lovely taverns. It was so different from Sentinel, yet somehow it felt _nostalgic. _"I _like_ it here. Maybe he and I can _finally_ stop running, and find someplace to call _home_."

Faelindra began to pout, her eyes wobbling emotionally. "Stradlater..." she gasped airily, resting her hands against the oak seat they shared. He reeled back somewhat, feeling awkward. "That's so... So... _Gay_."

_Then she burst out laughing._

The desert outcast blinked twice, like a noblewoman after dawdling through bags of make-up. "... _Gay_?"

"Who's gay?" a familiar voice questioned, a jewel-laden Wonders wandering up to the two resembling a sultan of the wastes. Amidst her giggles Faelindra gestured over to the confused Redguard, prompting the magician to roll his eyes - wasn't it _obvious; _as clear as day? "Yeah, gay. He's gay." he tossed a gem encrusted band under-arm towards his companion, tending to his own collection of twenty higher-quality ones. "Here, _your_ share of the spoils. Matches, yes?"

Stradlater snatched the ring as it sailed towards him, spinning the glimmering garnet between his fingers. Glancing up from his brief admiration he spotted Wonders brandishing his reddened claws, his own ring sat snugly between his middle-digit - said middle-digit raised in an expletive gesture. He could practically feel the smug grin of the Argonian, who blew a feminine kiss at him teasingly. The Redguard weakly kicked his helmet across the floor, causing Wonders to stumble back as he began to join into the chorus of chuckles. "_Git._"

"Don't hate me yet, _Redguard_." he smirked ferally, spinning a necklace like a pocket watch between his fingers. You could tell from the glint of his eyes that he was still fixed on the loot that they'd abandoned at the Retreat, and if Stradlater knew _anything _about Wonders it was that he'd give his all for a couple of pennies. "We've got a treasure chest to _liberate _from the clutches of villainy come to morning. Until then?"

_Why was he asking?_

_Of course he was in._

Stradlater simply nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Until then."

X

(A/N): Well, that felt anti-climatic...

Anywho, with that the second story concludes! Hopefully the next ones are oneshots rather than multi-chapter fics, because I always feel awkward writing multiple chapters!

Until then, stay classy New Vegas... I-I mean !


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